A Study In Reverse - An Unexpected Meeting
by The Consulting Storyteller
Summary: "Cocaine or heroin?" "Sorry?" "Which was it? Was it cocaine or heroin?"


**Author's note:** this work has been inspired by Theyatemytaylor on Tumblr: post/55049063080/reverse-johnlock (sorry for the incomplete adress, but it seems that the website doesn't tolerate links in his documents)

Thanks again to Asian-Inkwell for the beta.

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**A Study in Reverse**

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When I entered the room, I mouthed a 'thank you' to Mike as he held the door for me.

I looked at the space around me. The clean room was equipped with long tables occupied by microscopes, mass spectrometers and other test tube racks. It smelled of disinfectant.

"Hum, a bit different from my day", I noticed.

Yes, indeed. The room was so different from when I used to attend the chemistry class. I was almost surprised to be here, I was far from imagining setting foot there again one day. But chance caused my steps to pass this bench where one of my former classmates, Mike Stamford, sat. He had crossed the barrier that separated the desks of the office, and now held the position devoted to our teacher before. He had gained weight, taken habits in men's suits stores shelves and against young students full of future which we yet looked like during our younger years.

Mike couldn't suppress a laugh, probably struck by the same memory as me.

"Oh, you've no idea", he smiled.

A voice rose then, interrupting us.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone?" The voice asked. "There's no signal on mine."

I turned my head in that direction. I hadn't noticed that someone was already in the room. In the background, a man was leaning with concentration on a computer screen.

Mike approached him.

"What's wrong with the landline?" My friend wondered.

"I prefer to text."

The voice of the unknown man was strangely soft, tone a little high-pitched for a man. Mike seemed to relax, and then pointed to the door behind him.

"Sorry", he apologized. "It's in my coat."

There was a short silence, and then, without thinking, I put my hand in my pocket, showing my own mobile phone. Obviously, Mike and this man knew each others, so I saw no danger in doing this gesture.

"Hem, here. Use mine."

The man finally seemed to notice my presence. He looked at me and his face slightly marked expressed a kind of remote sweetness.

"Oh! Thank you."

He stood up and walked towards me. He was smaller than me, a little chunky, and a side part separated his short ash blond hair.

Mike pointed out to me:

"It's an old friend of mine", he introduced, "Sherlock Holmes."

The man finally came over to me. I handed him my mobile phone, he opened it without a word and began to type something.

"Cocaine or heroin?"

I froze in less than a second. Before me, on my left, I distinguished Mike looking at us with a smile. I turned to the man who remained unfazed, though the shadow of a smirk seemed to float on his lips.

"Sorry?" I asked, little unsure if I had understood his question.

"Which was it?" The unfamiliar man repeated. "Was it cocaine or heroin?"

Still in place, Mike continued to look at us with a smile. I felt myself stiffen, but at the time, to answer seemed like the only attitude to adopt.

"Cocaine", I admitted. "Sorry, how did you…"

Then I heard the door open, and the man seemed to completely lose interest in me. He turned his head toward the newcomer and his face lit up.

"Ah, Molly! Coffee, thank you."

While speaking, he closed my phone and gave it back to me without a glance. The newcomer, a young woman in a white blouse and brown hair tied in a ponytail, approached us with a mug of coffee. The man took the mug with a frown.

"What happened to the lipstick?" He inquired.

The young woman seemed strangely very embarrassed by the question. Her hands fluttered nervously.

"It wasn't working for me", she explained.

"Really? I think it was a big improvement", affirmed the stranger who really seemed to regret the absence of the said lipstick. "Your mouth is too… small, now."

He turned away from her, emphasizing his words with a vague gesture in front of his face, then took a sip of coffee.

"Ok…" went the so-called Molly.

Then she turned and headed for the door, while the man had returned to his computer. I watched her leave without saying a word.

"How do you feel about the blogs?" The man suddenly asked.

I marked a pause while Molly opened and shut the door behind me. Mike, who hadn't moved, not divested himself of his smile. I looked at him, suspicion through my eyes, my expression uncommunicative.

"Sorry, what?" I articulated.

"I post when I'm thinking, sometimes I talk a bit too much, and… would that bother you?" The stranger replied without taking his eyes from his computer. "Potentials flatmates should know the worst about each other."

Then he smiled, and his smile had accents of deep fun.

I frowned. I didn't understand what was going on or what was happening to me. How did this man have understood the purpose of my presence? I turned to Mike, accusing.

"You… You told him about me?"

Mike, who seemed to pretend to study a sample with the greatest interest, shook his head.

"Not a word", he replied.

"Then, who said anything about flatmates?" I attacked.

The man had finally taken off his computer and grabbed a black coat.

"I did. Told Mike this morning that it must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for, and now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend, clearly just home from rehab for cocaine. Wasn't a difficult leap."

_Wasn't a difficult leap_. I didn't know who this man was, but I had the feeling that he knew everything about me. Indeed, I was detective, maybe not the best, I admitted, but at least I applied myself to be conscientiously. Indeed, I abused cocaine on numerous occasions, and I learned to my cost that both absolutely didn't match. Conducting an investigation under the affects of my last fix wasn't the brightest of ideas, I found myself injured, with a shoulder wound and a very simple choice: work or drugs. That's how I landed in rehab. I was endowed with a persistent limp that my annoying therapist continued to believe psychosomatic. I hadn't taken a case since, hobbling between my useless weekly sessions and my short nights of nightmares.

I never told this to anyone whatsoever. Mike didn't even know what had happened to me, just the shot in my shoulder that he attributed to the work. And this man I didn't know, who didn't know me, had guessed it at the first glance. I felt like a specimen under the eye of a microscope. However, I refused to let him impress me. Who did this man think he was? Did to _guess_ give him the right to wave my life under my nose like that? Standing up, a little stiff, I resolved in a neutral voice to ask the only question that seemed important.

"How did you know about the cocaine?"

But the man didn't seem to have heard my question, or he decided to ignore it. He had finished buttoning his coat and took his mobile phone.

"Got my eye on a nice place in central London", he announced slightly. "We ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my kit in the mortuary."

And he walked toward the door, pretending to leave me alone as if nothing had happened. But I refused to leave it at that.

"Is that it?" I asked abruptly.

The man, who was going to open the door, get away to face me.

"Is that what?" He wanted to know.

"We've just met, and we're going to go and look at a flat?"

He looked to the side, in the direction of Mike. His face looked a little surprised, as if, for him, everything was granted and he didn't understand my reaction.

"Problem?" He inquired with concern.

His reaction didn't even make me smile. Instead, it irritated me. Everything irritated me, the man who knew everything about me that I didn't even know, Mike looking at us smiling with complicity, as if the trick was familiar.

"We don't know a thing about each other", I defended myself with stiffness. "I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

What followed, I didn't understand. But suddenly, the concern on his face had given way to a sort of indulgent smile. His eyes were on me, as if they read me. And I received a response with full force.

"I know you're a detective and you've been returned home from a rehab. I know you've got a brother worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's greedy, more likely because he recently walked out on his diet. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

Then without waiting for an answer I was anyway unable to provide, he turned and walked to the door, and opened it. Then he turned once more to me:

"The name is John Watson and the address is 221B Baker Street."

Then he winked.

"Afternoon!"

Mike raised his hand as to say good bye, and the door closed. Immediately, I turned my head to my friend, waiting for explanations.

Mike shook his head, as if reading my thoughts.

"Yeah. He's always like that."

And I stood there, annoyed by this meeting, without knowing the incredible impact that it would have on my future.

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End file.
